Ask for two articles: Hutong in Beijing and Hutong in Shanghai.

Seen from the top, Shanghai's alleys are spectacular. It is the same thing as the background of this city. Streets and buildings stand out on it, which are some points and lines, and it is the kind of brush strokes called touched in Chinese painting, fill in the blanks. It's dark, the lights are on, and these dots and lines are on. Behind that light, a large area of darkness is an alley in Shanghai. The darkness seemed almost ups and downs, almost pushing those rays away. It has a volume, but points and lines are floating on the surface, and it exists to divide this volume. It's just punctuation and things like that in the article, broken lines and sentences. Darkness is like an abyss. When a mountain is thrown down, it also sinks quietly. There seem to be many reefs hidden in the darkness, which will capsize if you are not careful. At any time in Shanghai, several lines of light are dominated by darkness and will last for decades. The glory of oriental Paris is built on darkness. A shop is decades. Now everything looks old, and the original works are revealed bit by bit. The breath of the morning lights up bit by bit, and the light goes out bit by bit: first, there is a thin layer of fog, the light is straight, and the outline is outlined like meticulous brushwork. The first thing that jumps out is the tiger skylight on the roof of the old alley, which looks exquisite and smart in the morning fog, and the wooden frame sash is finely carved; The tiles on that house are well arranged; The rose in the flowerpot on the windowsill is also carefully cultivated. Then the terrace came out, and the clothes overnight were stagnant, like clothes on a painting; The cement on the low wall of the terrace has fallen off, revealing rusty red bricks, and like a painting, every stroke is clearly identifiable. Then, the cracks in the gables also appeared, and there was a little green moss, like the coolness of tentacles. The first ray of sunshine shines on the gable, which is a beautiful picture, almost gorgeous and somewhat desolate; It's both fresh and old. At this time, the concrete floor at the bottom is still in the morning fog, and the fog at the back is heavier than that at the front. There is also sunshine on the iron railing balcony of the new lane, which is reflected on the long landing window. This is a sharp stroke, which means to open the curtain and divide day and night. The fog was finally dispersed by the sun and everything became more colorful. Moss turned out to be black, and so did the wood in the Liao frame. However, the black iron railings on the balcony are rusty, green grass grows in the gaps in the gables, and the white pigeons flying in the sky become gray pigeons.

Alleys in Shanghai are all kinds of shapes and sounds. Sometimes they are like that, sometimes they are like this, and they can't reach an agreement. In fact, the same and the same are the same. They, in turn, finally said the same thing, thousands of people, United as one. Dongmen Hutong is one of the most powerful hutongs in Shanghai. They inherited some deep houses and an evil face. They put all the strict obstacles on a door and a wall. When you open the door, the courtyard is shallow and the living room is shallow. I walked through it in two steps, and a wooden staircase was above my head. The wooden stairs do not bend until they reach the upstairs boudoir, and the window facing the street on the second floor is full of amorous feelings. The new alleyway in the East District of Shanghai puts down its shelf. The door is a low iron gate carved in the air, and it is not enough to have a leaning window upstairs. You also need to make a balcony to stand on in order to see the scenery of the market. The oleander in the yard sticks out of the wall and can't lock the spring. However, it is still guarded inside. The lock on the back door is a spring lock made in Germany. The windows on the ground floor have iron bars, and the low iron gates have sharp corners. The patio is surrounded in the middle of the room, and it seems that it can't get in or out. The alley in the west apartment is strictly guarded. The rooms are all complete sets, and one door is closed. And one person keeps it, ten thousand people can't force it, the wall is soundproof, and the chickens can't hear each other loudly. The house and the house are separated by a wide area and never meet. But this kind of prevention is also a democratic prevention, European and American-style, which protects the freedom of being a man. In fact, you can do whatever you want, and no one can stop you. The noise of the shack is completely open. The cow felt roof leaks rain, the partition wall is not windproof, and the doors and windows are not closed tightly. This kind of alley house looks like rows of crowded houses, and the lights are like beans bit by bit. Although weak, but dense, like a pot of porridge. They also have countless tributaries like rivers, and like trees, they have countless branches. They crisscross and form a big net. They are exposed on the surface, but they are mysterious and tortuous inside. At dusk, pigeons wander in the air of Shanghai, looking for their nests. The roof is constantly undulating, and the roof rises to a peak when viewed horizontally. Standing at the highest point, they are all connected and endless, and the southeast and northwest are somewhat confused. They are still flowing like water, drilling around every crack, which looks a bit messy, but they are actually patchwork. They are big and dense. Some are like wheat fields planted by farmers and then harvested, while others are like virgin forests, which are left to fend for themselves. They are really very beautiful scenery.

Alleys in Shanghai are very sexy, like skin. It has the coolness and warmth of tentacles, reason and selfishness. The greasy kitchen back window is dedicated to my mother's gossip; At the back door by the window, the big lady went to school with a book on her back to have a tryst with the man; Although the front door doesn't open very often, there are great things to do as soon as it opens. Designed for guests to walk around and post wedding notices. It always has a little uncontrollable excitement, jumping and a little rambling. Balcony and balcony, as well as windows, are all whispering, and knocking at the door at night is one after another. Still have to stand at the highest point and find a good angle: the clothes on the bamboo pole hanging in the alley are a bit ambiguous; Impatiens, gems and shallots planted in flowerpots are also transactional; The pigeon cage on the roof is an empty heart; Broken and messy tiles are also symbols of heart and body. The gully-like bottom is paved with cement and made of stone eggs. Finally, the cement paving was somewhat detached from the heart and lungs, while the back of the stone egg road was full of meat. There are two kinds of footsteps, the former is crisp and loud, but the latter is eaten stuffy in the stomach; The former is polite, the latter is sincere. Neither of them is an official document, but an inevitable daily saying. The back streets and alleys in Shanghai are more like walking into people's hearts. The pavement there is decorated with cracks, sewers overflow, fish scales and old leaves floating on the water, and there is oil smoke in the kitchen. It's a little dirty and untidy here, and the deepest privacy is exposed, which is a bit unruly. So, it looks a bit gloomy. The sun came in at three o'clock in the afternoon, and soon the sun set. This sunshine gives it an ambiguous color, the wall is yellow, the rough surface items stand out, and there is a rustle. The window glass is yellow, stained and looks like a flower. At this time, the sun has been shining for a long time, and some people are at a loss and exhausted. When the last light that sinks to the bottom of the water bursts out and shines, there will be a lot of sediments in the light, which are sticky and heavy, and some are unclean. Pigeons fly in front, some dust in the sunset flies in the back alley, and wild cats are here. This goes deep into the skin, far from being close or close. On the contrary, it is a bit boring and intimidating, but there is a feeling of gnawing at bones.

The moving of Shanghai Alley comes from the most daily scenes, not stirred by the rumors, but accumulated bit by bit. This is touched by the popularity of fireworks. There are some unexpected things flowing in the rows of alleys, which are being cleaned up. It's not a big deal, but it's trivial and meticulous. That has nothing to do with the concept of history. Even unofficial history is hard to call, but can only be called gossip. Gossip is another landscape in Shanghai's alleys. It's almost visible, and it's also exposed from the back window and back door. The front door and balcony are a little solemn, but they are also rumors. Although these rumors are not history, they also have the form of time, which is gradual and causal. These rumors are close to the skin, not as cold and rigid as old paper piles. Although there are many fallacies, they are also sensible fallacies. When the street lamps in this city are brilliant, there is usually only one lamp in the alley, the most unusual iron cover, which is covered with rust and dust. The light is dim, and there are some smoking things growing and spreading below. This is the time to brew rumors. This is an obscure moment, somewhat ambiguous, but hurtful. Pigeons are twittering in the cage, as if whispering. The light in the street was justified, but it was a pity that it was just about to flow in and get it back when it was eaten by darkness. The gossip with the front lounge and the left and right wings is old-fashioned and smells of yellow grass; The rumor about alley houses with pavilions and corner stairs is new, and the taste is the smell of mothballs. No matter the old school or the new school, there is a kind of sincerity, which can be called true feelings. They all scoop water by hand and fill a pool with a handful of water. Swallows build nests bit by bit with mud, without any laziness and treachery. The alleys in Shanghai are really embarrassing. The green moss in its shade is actually a kind of scar on the wound and a pain point healed by time. Because it is improper, it grows in the shade and has not seen the sun for many years. Parthenocissus is positive, but it is the curtain of time, covered with something. When the pigeon flies, it hurts to see waves on the roof tiles in the alley. Sunlight spurts out from the roof, bumping and bumping, just discounted light. This is a spectacular collection of countless small fragments and a great force for countless patience.

Beijing hutong

Feng

There are many hutongs in Beijing. Behind the tall buildings, it stretched its own shadow. This is a strange city. On the one hand, people feel the modern atmosphere of the city. On the other hand, quadrangles with blue bricks and gray tiles and decaying grass on the walls are full of vicissitudes.

I remember Jia Dao said in his poem that if you stay in a foreign land for a long time, you will regard it as your hometown. Really, when I am in Beijing, I often look for various impressions of my hometown. There are many similarities and distinct differences. Unconsciously compare in your mind. Cities and cities cannot be simply said to be good or bad. The older the city, the more cultural precipitation. This kind of precipitation unconsciously penetrated into the villagers' bone marrow, which became obvious evidence that one side's soil and water nourished the other side.

The hutongs in Beijing are narrow and messy, just like an old man who has gone through many years of vicissitudes. The quadrangles on both sides are open-air and quietly basking in the sun. Autumn sunshine is just right and the sky is blue. On the slender roadside, poplars, locust trees and willows are swinging their branches leisurely. Between the two trees, there is a rope hanging clothes, and there are bright clothes floating on the rope. An old man was pushing a cart, wearing cloth shoes and stepping on the alley carefully. There are some needles, needles, pencils and erasers in the trolley, which reminds people of the old vendors. In fact, out of the alley is the supermarket. It doesn't matter whether there is a buyer for the goods of the elderly. It is that kind of calm and elegant, which makes people feel excited. Then some children, running through the alley, broke the peace of the alley.

In my hometown, a city as old as Beijing, there is also a desolate history in the sunset. My primary school is in a long alley. There are also locust trees and willows on the roadside of the alley. An old lady pushing a cart sells popsicles and all kinds of sweets at the school gate. That kind of candy is so cheap that you can buy it for a penny or two. As soon as the bell rang, a lot of children surrounded the car, exchanged some change for candy, and even secretly put candy in their mouths during class. Most of those sweets have no wrapping paper, and those with wrapping paper are more expensive. The little girl especially likes that kind of cellophane, which can be used to make all kinds of little people. So he sent adults to the fruit shop to choose sweets wrapped in beautiful cellophane. After eating the sugar, the paper is reluctant to throw away, flatten and pile up into a thick stack. I took it out and exchanged it with someone else for a pattern I didn't have. Then hide in the hut, fold up the villain and imagine yourself as the little princess in colorful clothes.

My home used to be in the yard of an alley. There are locust trees in the courtyard, so there is a season when locust trees are fragrant and flowers fall like snow. People in the small courtyard are noisy and live a down-to-earth life. Clothes that change with the seasons are still hung on the wire under the locust tree. On the rubber band under the locust tree, there are little girls singing nursery rhymes from generation to generation.

I walked out of the school and home in the alley and shuttled between the high-rise buildings in the city, but I couldn't erase too many dusty old things. Living in a modern city, I can't get rid of the desire to go back to the past. Perhaps, the more modern things are, the less people feel emotions. Just like writing on the computer, it is less troublesome and less warm to see words. And sometimes, the more modern things are, the more they belong to the rich. But many times, happiness is not because of a little more wealth. Everything in the alley is old, but there is no lack of happiness and warmth.

At dusk, I stood at the hutong mouth of Beijing, and the afterglow of sunset dyed the hutong light red from the treetops and the grass on the roof. Car bells pouring into hutong. Let the quiet hutong become lively. Followed by the noise of cooking in every household. The aroma began to dissipate in the air. At night, there will be more people chatting under the tree. The moon hangs over the treetops, and the noisy hutong is quiet again, waiting for another dawn.

I have never lived in a quadrangle in Beijing, but I firmly believe I know what it's like. All the warmth, simplicity and adaptability to life there are familiar to me. I'm afraid this is the only constant thing that the family and city where I grew up have given me.

One day, the hutongs in Beijing will die quietly like the people who once lived in them. But the spirit they left to this world will never change.